Heat of the Moment
by skag trendy
Summary: When Sam is late home from school, John’s own brand of discipline goes a little too far. Sick Sam. Angsty/angry/guilty Dean. Angry/guilty John. Dean 19, Sam 15. WARNING FOR LANGUAGE!
1. Chapter 1

**Heat of the Moment**

**Chapter One**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**When Sam is late home from school, **_

_**John's own brand of discipline goes a little too far.**_

_**Sick Sam. Angsty/angry Dean. Angry/guilty John.**_

_**Dean 19, Sam 15.**_

_**Many thanks go out to Phx and Sendintheclowns for the very patient beta work!**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_Where the hell's that kid got to __**this**__ time? _John narrowed his eyes, angrily, and slouched against the Impala's driver side. It was the third time in the past week the boy was late home from school. Once was down to a stupid science project, and the other when he stayed late to talk to one of his teachers.

But this evening was especially important. Sam should have been home an hour ago. His older brother was huffing impatiently, anxious to get going.

It was time for the Winchester hunting unit to move on.

_Thank God for that! _Dean glanced back at the crummy rental they'd been calling home for the last month, and kicked at a loose stone.

_Can't stand cockroaches in the bathroom… or rats in the basement..._

He fervently hoped their next 'home' would at least come with a _colour_ TV, rather than the black and white dinosaur with the cracked outer casing they'd been using since their arrival.

"There he is," John growled, suddenly. "At long last!"

Dean glanced up to see his little brother hurrying along the sidewalk, face red, and clearly out of breath.

John, his own face like granite, drew up to his full height, hands fisted by his sides in classic drill sergeant stance.

"And where do you think you've been?"

Sam shook his head and hefted his backpack further up his shoulder.

"Yuh… s'sorry. C-came… as f-fast as I could…" he didn't even get a chance to finish.

"Call that _fast?_" inquired John, voice dangerously low, and Dean winced in sympathy with his little brother. Their Dad was in no mood for explanations. He was impatient, angry, and about ready to snap. Dean prayed Sam got the hint, apologised, and just shut his mouth.

But of course, this was _Sam_…

"I'm really sorry sir, but Mr Breton took us for final class, and he…" Sam had quickly got his breath back, but it still didn't do him any good.

"I don't care what your excuses are. When I order you to be home at a specified time, I expect to be obeyed _without question!_"

His father loomed over him, and Dean could see how Sam outright resisted the urge to back away. Instead, the stubborn little shit met his father's gaze head on.

Always a mistake.

"You never listen to me." Sam wasn't yelling, but there was enough of an attitude in his tone to suggest he'd like to be. "I might as well not exist. You don't even treat me like a son anymore. I'm just another good little soldier."

Enough of an attitude, in fact, that John's broad shoulders stiffened up, and his eyes, if possible, narrowed even further.

"_Good?_" John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You sure about that, boy?"

Sam didn't flinch under the barb, but his eyes did widen slightly with hurt.

Dean stood silently by, arms crossed over his chest. He kept his face expressionless when Sam's pleading gaze briefly sought his support.

Sam clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, but said nothing.

John nodded slowly, in mock approval.

"Yeah. Didn't think so." John stepped closer to his youngest son and growled menacingly, right in his face. "You better get plenty of sleep on the journey, Sam. 'Cause when we arrive, Dean and I are gonna rest, while _you…_" he raised his left index finger and poked lightly at Sam's chest "are going for an early morning run. Understood?"

Sam merely nodded, stiffly, but relented when his father's glared intensified.

"Yes… _sir!_" he spat out, teeth clenched to breaking point.

John clearly wasn't impressed. But it was either stand there and further delay the journey, or just get going.

Eventually, with Sam fuming in the front seat of the Impala, Dean in the driver's seat, John strode away and leapt up into the cab of his truck.

Dean glanced over at his hot headed little brother.

"So," he pulled away from the curb and followed his father's big black monster, "you wanna play the licence plate game?"

It was his only olive branch, and Sam set light to it with an accusing glare, before going back to his close scrutiny of the passenger window.

His baby brother hadn't uttered a word, but Dean read the message loud and clear.

_Judas!_

"Look, Sam," Dean tried to be reasonable. "You know what Dad gets like when he's ready to move on."

Sam's only response was a derisive snort.

"He didn't mean nothing by it. He knows you do a great job," Dean tried again. "Just, try not to rile him so much, huh?"

"Why do you defend him all the time?" Sam shot back in anger, taking his older brother by surprise. "I mean, he didn't even give me the chance to explain what happened at school, yet you leap to his defence _every time_, leaving me to flounder on my own."

Dean breathed out slowly, and counted to ten before answering.

"I do not _leap_ to his defence," he offered calmly.

There came that snort again; it was starting to get on Dean's nerves, and his temper was beginning to fray around the edges.

"I'm just trying to keep the peace round here, ok?" he glanced over at Sam several times, before shaking his head sadly. "S'not easy ya know, trying to stop you two from tearing each other apart."

"I didn't pick the fight, Dean. I was trying to explain where I was, and why I got held up." Sam huffed in frustration. "But he wouldn't even _listen_."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, _this_ time you didn't start it," he ground out. "But what about all the other times?"

"If Dad wasn't so damn pushy…"

It was Dean's turn to snort, and _loudly_.

"He's trying to _protect_ you Sam! He worries…"

"Oh yeah, sure. _Sounds_ like it!" Sam retorted. "I'm late home from school, and he hands out a punishment. That really _sounds_ like he was worried about me. And if he was so concerned, why didn't he come get me himself?"

Dean's nostrils flared angrily, and he brought a hand down on the steering wheel with a loud thump.

"_Because he trusted you to get your ass out of school on time! And if your attitude hadn't been so shitty in the first place, may be he'd have listened to you!_"

He could see his kid brother's shocked, hurt face out the corner of his eye, and tamped down on the twinge of guilt. His statement had been inaccurate and unfair to say the least, but Dean was in survival mode. Making war on their father and provider just wasn't on his agenda.

"Right." He heard Sam whisper. "But… I just don't get it. It's too confusing…"

Dean frowned at that, and resisted the urge to look at Sam. It was heart wrenching enough just to watch him in his peripherals, without subjecting himself to the puppy dog eyes, on top of everything else.

"What d'ya mean? What's so _confusing_ about it Sam?" his tone was more than a little sarcastic, and though it was only a slight movement, Dean still picked up on his little brother's flinch. "I mean, all ya had to do was skip class, or walk out. Simple."

"But it's _not_ simple," Sam replied, softly. "Dad trained us to obey orders, to respect his authority. He _always_ expects me to behave in school, and not draw attention to myself. How can he, in the next breath, demand I go back on that? _To walk out of class? Skip school?_" he shook his head, and finished, voice a little sad, "I just don't see the logic in it."

Dean felt his earlier frown edging its way back. Sam sounded genuinely confused, lost even. He relied way too much on logic, in Dean's opinion. Kid was like Mr Spock or something.

Dean understood what his father meant, but clearly Sam was struggling with it. Not because he was stupid, just the opposite. But, because, if Dean was _really_ honest, it _didn't_ seem logical.

The correct word was _hypocritical. _But the older brother wasn't quite ready to embrace that concept, and probably wouldn't be for another ten years at least.

So he gave the only answer he could think of.

"Well, suck it up, Sammy," he heard his little brother's sigh of resignation and swallowed a further mouthful of guilt. "That's the way it is, and it ain't gonna change. So next time? Just walk out of class."

Sam turned away, and slid his head down against the passenger window.

_Yeah. 'Cause an asshole like Mr Breton would've just stood for that!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam tried to sleep. He really did. But it was getting hotter the further south they went and no one had thought to pack some bottles of water in the car. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and his blood still boiled at the injustice of it all.

What his stubborn ass father and brother failed to appreciate was that the _cops_ had been by his school that afternoon. It had originally been an hour long presentation to the class, bestowing the virtues of a career in the police force. The erstwhile officer, young, keen, and enthusiastic, had over-run the allotted hour, and obviously it was considered impolite to interrupt his speech.

Sam was caught trying to send Dean a discreet text from under his desk and his cell phone was confiscated by the teacher. Mr Breton was a rather old fashioned post-war Englishman, who had no interest whatsoever in modern technology, and despised cell phones in particular with a fierce passion. When the presentation finally came to end, Sam was given a stern lecture on the subject of good manners, and told he could collect his cell phone at the end of the week.

Leaving the premises, and reflecting miserably on his lost cell phone, Sam felt someone bump his shoulder and glanced up into the face of his friend and science partner, Jimmy Russell.

"What's wrong, Sam? You look like you've lost your best friend," Jimmy's soft, brown eyes twinkled kindly underneath thick, dark brows.

Sam sighed. _Nice portent, dude._

"Uh… we, my family that is, are heading out to visit some relatives tonight," he offered as simple an explanation as possible. "We won't be coming back for a few weeks, and I'll need my cell phone." He added, softly, "Dad'll freak if I don't bring it with me."

"Well," Jimmy frowned thoughtfully. "End of the week is only two days away. Why don't you tell me where ya headed, and I'll mail it to you? Just give me a note with your signature on it to say that you willingly sign it over to me. Mr Breton can hardly argue with _that._"

Sam grinned admiringly.

_Jimmy's gonna be a great lawyer some day._

Jimmy and Sam parted ways, the latter reflecting with sadness, that this was probably the last time he'd ever see his friend again.

_Maybe I'll need a lawyer one day, _Sam thought morosely, silently wishing the boy all the best for his future. Jimmy planned on graduating early and hoped to be the youngest guy to ever pass the bar.

Full of ambition, and so set on where he was headed, Jimmy had the world at his feet.

_That_ piqued Sam's interest. He wondered...

_Hmm… I'd need to go to college..._ he shook his head, with a snort. Like _that_ was ever gonna happen.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam managed a total of three non-consecutive hours sleep throughout the journey. When they arrived at their new home for the foreseeable future, Sam glanced up with barely concealed disgust at the ramshackle beach house, barely lit by an outside lantern. At least, that's what it looked like, some kind of beach chalet built around three million years ago.

_Jesus! Look's like it's gonna fall down any second._

"Sam!" The deep voice of John Winchester barked out, startling him. "Once we finish unpacking, get changed, then start your warm up session."

Sam just managed to repress a scowl, though John obviously sensed it lurking on the far regions of his demeanour, because he glared ferociously and added:

"There's a road that runs right around the property with virtually no traffic this early. I wanna see you pass by the house every hour, _at least._"

Sam's eyes went wide, as did his nostrils, in a mix of shock and anger. That gave him some idea of the lap length.

_So, fucking __**huge,**__ then._

And the fact his father wanted to see him regularly was probably for his own safety, didn't make him feel any better.

_More like to make sure I'm not slacking off!_ Sam fumed again.

But remembering his brother's tired words in the car and really not wanting to cause anymore trouble than strictly necessary, Sam kept quiet and did as he was told.

Dean watched his brother discreetly; noting the stubborn set to his jaw, in direct contrast to the shoulders slumped in defeat.

_Oh boy._

Sam was ready in record time and stretching out tired, cramped muscles. He sniffed the early morning air taking in the humidity and scent of rotting foliage.

Already he could feel the temperature rising by the time the sun was about to peek over the horizon. Sure, they were right by the coast, but the air felt stale, like it hadn't moved in a month. The beach could just be seen in the distance and the tide was way out; the beach itself consisting of wet sand and dark, dank seaweed, a result of the over-use of nitrite-based fertilizers, running off nearby farmland during a recent spell of wet weather.

Wrinkling his nose, Sam was about to set off when his father called to him once more.

"Sam!"

Not turning, but mouth working furiously, biting his lower lip, half wanting to vent his spleen, other half holding him back, Sam called out.

"_Yes_… sir."

He could feel John's glare boring into his back, and waited.

"_Look_ at me when I'm talking to you!"

Finally, Sam turned, wisely not meeting his dad's eyes this time. But he knew he hadn't gotten away with it.

"Just remember. You don't get to quit until I say so. If I find out you slacked off in _any way_," John paused, watching him carefully. "Consider the punishment doubled."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean once again kept silent during the exchange, though he did glance worriedly up at the sky once or twice. The sun hadn't yet put in an appearance but it was supposed to heat up real quickly towards midday, with an estimated forty in the shade. He didn't want Sam out in that. Kid was fit, sure, but running out in those temperatures was a dangerous game.

"Dean?"

He turned to his father.

"Yes sir."

"I need you to go into town for me." John handed over a grocery list and some cash.

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, not at all happy about being away from his little brother.

But, seriously. What could happen in such a short space of time?

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**What indeed?**_

_**Oh dear, Dean. You really shouldn't have said that, especially with me around...**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Heat of the Moment**

**Chapter Two**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam kept up a fast and steady pace, T-shirt sticking to his back uncomfortably in the heat, and passed by the house again. Third time in an hour.

Who said he couldn't follow orders?

Having missed breakfast, Sam was feeling more than a little hungry, but chose to ignore his hunger pangs. Somehow he didn't think his Dad would appreciate any requests for food.

He scowled when he heard a small noise on the road behind him, but didn't turn or draw attention to it.

His father _was_ checking up on him, making sure Sam _was_ actually _running_. Not walking.

_Fine,_ Sam thought, a little smugly, and sped up.

*

Just as Sam passed the house a fourth time in the hour, John broke off and headed quietly towards the kitchen, satisfied that his youngest son wasn't cheating in some way.

He didn't actually think he would, but these days? John just didn't know the boy all that well any more.

But at least he'd put his own mind at rest for a few laps. Sam would be perfectly safe in this semi-wilderness.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_What could happen in such a short space of time? Oooh, let's see…_Dean thought, sarcastically.

For a start, he had to fill up with gas along the way, then getting to town was a two hour journey that should have only taken one, but the coffin dodger on the John Deer tractor stubbornly refused to pull over and let Dean pass.

Then there was the queue at the store, which typically crossed an international time zone.

_Then_ came the return journey, whereby he got stuck behind the same old bastard on the John Deer, presumably heading home to sit at some meadow gate and chew on a _blade of fucking grass the rest of the fucking day!!!!_…

Dean came very close to pulling out his .45 and plugging the fucker, just on principle, when he was eventually gifted with the opportunity to overtake.

Six hours later, with the sun riding high, and the day's heat on the wrong side of bearable, Dean arrived back at the beach house.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_Maybe Dad's trying to kill me, _Sam thought, tiredly. _Been out here for hours._

In fact, it was long past twelve, lunchtime, but Sam no longer felt hungry.

He felt sick.

His feet hurt, muscles ached, and his skull throbbed painfully in time with each step.

He wasn't even running now, just kind of slouching forward as best he could, fully aware that if his family caught him shirking like this, he'd be out here until midnight.

But worse than that, Sam would have to endure the endless sneering of his father and the disappointment of his brother.

Looking down at his arms in confusion, Sam squinted furiously, trying to figure out what all that white powder was doing there.

If he'd been in the right frame of mind, Sam might have been worried. He'd have realised that the white powder was, in fact, his own _body salt_ left behind after the sweat evaporated.

And Sam was _no longer_ sweating.

His mouth was dry, his tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size. The surroundings flashed alarmingly in front of his eyes, antagonizing the fast growing headache.

_Too bright..._

He could have stopped, headed back to the house and claimed dehydration.

In fact, he'd _known _he _should _have headed back to the house ages ago, but that stubborn Winchester streak, coupled with the threat of his family's shame if he gave up, kept Sam going long after he should have stopped.

The house was still a mile off. If he could just make it that far…

"_M-may be D-dad will l-let me rest… n-need w-water…"_

He blinked and squinted at the dark figure of his father, suddenly appearing against the backdrop of the midday sun.

"Dad?" Sam croaked out.

Crossing his arms, face already working up to the sneer, his father remarked dryly.

"_So. Once you get back, you're planning on giving up, huh?"_

Sam blinked again, at a complete loss.

John's face twisted into a look of disgust.

"_No son of mine just gives up!" _The sneer came back, just for a moment_. "But then, I guess you just ain't my son. Not like Dean…_

"_Sam-my's a gir-ll, Sam-my's a gir-ll,"_came a singsong voice from behind and Sam whirled round to face his brother, jogging on the spot, nasty, smug grin adorning his face. _"Except, even girls wouldn't give up so soon, huh little brother? So what does that make you…?"_

Sam's eyes filled with tears, which vaguely surprised him. He didn't think he had enough water left in his body to waste on such an indulgence.

"D-Dean… no…" he stammered, weakly stumbling forward, hands reaching out, silently begging for help.

"_Guess that makes you a freak!"_ His brother grinned, triumphantly.

Sam dropped his hands in shock and backed away, panting and shaking, then staggered off in the general direction of what could loosely be called home.

His stomached churned violently, but he continued onwards, desperate to prove to his family that he was worth something.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dad?"

Dean strode into the kitchen and dumped the grocery bags down on the table.

"Why here? Please. _Tell_ me you got a good reason for dragging us back a hundred years in the past."

John was sat right by the window, scribbling in his journal, frown lines etched deeply into his forehead. He glanced up as if surprised to see Dean back so soon.

"Yep. It's called R&R for you and me, and training for Sammy. Kid's getting soft."

Dean sighed, held a silent argument with his inner self, and came to a decision.

"Maybe we should listen to what he has to say next time, Dad." then waited for the rant, which never came. John's shoulders tensed up but the guy didn't say a word. Dean took that as a good sign. "Maybe Sam had a good reason for being late… s'not like we asked him..."

"That's not the point," John's head shot up, fixing Dean with a determined stare. "His attitude is all wrong. He's stubborn, disrespectful, barely acknowledges my authority…" he shook his head. "How are we supposed to keep him safe if he won't take orders, Dean?"

"But Dad, he _is_ taking orders," Dean insisted, well aware that he was walking the fine line of insubordination. "He's just a little confused. Kid doesn't understand how to prioritize between obeying an order from you, and obeying an order from a teacher."

John stared at him for a long moment, and Dean was almost convinced his father was listening.

But then the senior Winchester suddenly jumped to his feet, blood draining from his face, and eyes fixed on the kitchen clock.

"Oh my God! I can't believe I didn't check the time!"

"Huh?" Dean gaped stupidly, wondering what the hell was going on. "Dad…"

"Sammy's still out there!" John dashed towards the fridge and began grabbing bottles of water in a panic, unaware of the steadily growing anger in his oldest son. "I haven't seen him pass the house in a while…"

Dean's shock faded completely, anger fully rising up to take its rightful place.

"You mean… _Sam's still running?_ In _this_ heat?" Dean glared at his father, white hot _fury_ blazing a trail through his heart. "Please, God! Tell me you made him take a break for water…" he trailed off at guilty expression on John's face, then let his temper off the leash…

"_Dad! How __**could **__you!_"

But John was already bagging the water and grabbing the first aid kit.

"No time for that now, ok? Let's just find him first, make sure the kid's all right."

He headed out with a mutinous but worried Dean in his wake.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was barely holding himself upright. The ground pitched and rolled before his eyes, and the flashing lights grew painfully harsh. The finish line seemed so far away, and Sam was losing heart.

His skin _hurt_, stretched tight over his bones, red and blistered from the sun. His lips were chapped and crusted over with salt. Not even a quick sweep with his tongue would loosen up that rough, dry surface. Breathing offered no relief; his lungs desperately pulled in the over-heated air making his head swim violently.

Every now and then, his family showed up, taunting and tormenting him, telling Sam he wasn't going to make it, that he was too weak and useless.

The hatred in his brother's eyes, the accusations…

"_Girl…"_

"_Nah, that's too good for a weakling like you…"_

"_Freak… yeah! That works…"_

…were beginning to cripple him.

His father… that _sneer_, that cold voice, so full of conviction that Sam was going to fail, proving once again Sam couldn't obey a simple order.

"_You're going to lose the fight, Sam. Just like I knew all along..."_

Turning and trying to back away, he nearly panicked when Dean appeared again, running towards him this time, Dad just behind.

"Nonononooooooooo!!!" Sam whimpered softly, eyes closed to slits, head hung down… and stumbled into someone's arms.

"Sammy?"

Sam's breathing sped up in panic, and he began to struggle weakly.

"Nnnn… n-noooooo," he moaned out, knees buckling, body sliding down helplessly, and the remainder of his strength drained away. "Mmmmnot w-weak… g-g-g-gotta k-keep g-g-g-_goiiiinnnnnn_…"

"Sammy, its ok, just relax…"

Someone was tenderly stroking his sore face. Voices muttered quietly but he couldn't make out the words. They could have been coming from underwater for all he knew.

Still, he heard that same _horrible_ word, over and over.

_Freak… freak…_

"Mmmmnotafreak….nota _FREAK!!!"_

"Sammy, calm down little dude…"

Sam was losing control. He _needed_ to tell them he could carry on, as long as they wanted.

"Dnnnnnn… g-g-g-gonna dddddoit…"

Sam felt hands cradling the back of his head, his jaws gently forced apart, and then wonderful, cool liquid was filling his mouth. Spluttering a little at first whilst he tried to remember what to do, Sam eventually swallowed huge great gulps of… of… _water!_

He'd forgotten what it tasted like…

"Take it easy now Sammy, small sips…" someone was saying, but Sam was just so _thirsty_.

A few more sips and the water was taken away. Sam whimpered at its loss.

"S'ok, buddy. You can have some more in a minute. Just let this go down, huh?"

Sam wasn't sure if whoever this was required an answer, so he decided to remain quiet. He didn't have the energy to _think_ properly, let alone speak.

"_Jesus_, he's in a bad way…" a deeper voice, just as worried as the first, came from nearby. Sam frowned. Both these people sounded familiar, but they couldn't be who he thought they were, 'cause his family thought he was a _freak_, didn't think he was _good_ enough, told him he was a _failure_, knew he was a useless _waste of space._

His stomach suddenly performed a barrel roll, and all that wonderfully cool water rushed up his gullet, erupting from his mouth like a geyser.

Faint tremors started up, his fingers tingling uncomfortably, limbs shaking like leaves. Fortunately, Sam lost consciousness before the tremors turned into an outright seizure.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean and John ran fast as they could until they saw a staggering drunken form in the distance.

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that Sam was extremely sick. The kid squinted at them, then tried to back away, panting unevenly, body shaking with exhaustion.

"Nonononooooooooo!!!" He spun around and swayed dangerously on his feet.

Speeding up, Dean raced forward at just the right moment catching Sam in his arms, before the kid could smash his face open on the tarmac. After a brief, half-hearted struggle, Sam's knees buckled and Dean lowered him safely to the ground.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered fearfully, and turned the kid over. His little brother gazed up, glassy tear eyes not really _seeing_ him.

"Mmmmnotafreak….nota _FREAK!!!_ nota _FREAK!!!" _he croaked, over and over.

"Sammy, calm down little dude…" but Dean could guess what was going on, and it scared the hell out of him. "Dad, I think he's hallucinating."

"Wouldn't surprise me," came his father's sad reply. "Poor kid's dehydrated to hell…"

Dean brushed a gentle hand over Sam's flushed cheeks, sweeping away salt encrusted strands of hair, whilst John fumbled with the cap on a water bottle.

Dean shifted a little, adjusting his position by placing a knee behind the kid's back, so he could hold Sam up enough to safely give him the water. The kid panted, mumbled and moaned incoherently, while Dean held onto him, whispering reassurances.

"Dean, hold his head up," John commanded, softly, trying not to frighten his youngest son.

Dean cupped Sam's head, and gently prised open his mouth, allowing John to slowly feed Sam the water. The kid damn near choked on it at first, but soon seemed to recognise it for what it was, and gulped eagerly.

Worried he'd get sick John took the water away, heart breaking a little when his boy cried softly.

That's when they noticed the quivering in Sam's body, steadily growing. Sam's panting turned into outright hyperventilation, his eyes slid closed, and the boy passed out.

And convulsed violently in his big brother's arms.

"Sammy!" Dean, scared shitless in an instant, clung on, stilling Sam's head, keeping him safe and trying to bring him round. His anxious gaze sought John's. "Dad… he needs help, badly…"

John began pouring the water over Sam's neck and face, careful to keep his nose and mouth clear.

"I know son, but all the way out here?" he sent Dean a meaningful look.

His oldest son stared back at him in horror.

"Surely there's at least a damn _clinic _somewhere nearby!"

John shook his head. "There's one doc in town, but he won't get here fast enough."

He sure didn't like Dean's tone, but now wasn't the time. And in any case, the boy was right.

He'd made it his business to rant on about keeping his sons safe, spent a good deal of time, in particular, rubbing Sam's nose in it whenever he made a mistake, and yet the one thing these boys really needed protection from, was their own _father!_

_**I**__ did this to Sam. I __**forgot**__ he was out here in the heat, running under the midday sun… and __**now**__ look at him._

Sam lay against his brother, face, neck and arms burned almost to a crisp, unconscious and convulsing helplessly. His teeth were fiercely clenched, whilst his was head held in Dean's tight grip.

John had forced this on the kid, even threatened him if he dared to stop.

_Oh God! What I have done?_

"DAD!"

John jumped a little. Dean was watching him, anxiously waiting for an answer.

"Keep on bathing him with water," John got to his feet. "But don't let him drink any until the seizure passes. I'll be right back."

Dean watched over Sam fearfully, whilst their father ran all the way back to the house.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John pounded through the beach house and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Grasping the rusty old faucet, he twisted and twisted again…

_Shit!_

Apart from a deep groaning, and what sounded like a bull elephant bellowing in pain from deep within the bowels of the house, absolutely nothing happened.

No water gushed forth from the tap, gurgling its way to freedom.

The bath didn't fill up, not even halfway, just remained resolutely empty.

John stared at the bath tub, breathing hard through his nose, and just _lost _it.

"_Sonofabitch!_"

The shaving mirror went flying into the wall, shards of glass splintering outwards and stinging John's exposed flesh. In fact, he raged though the entire house, before he managed to get a hold of himself.

_This isn't helping Sammy. The child needs help, not his father having a tantrum._

It was what John referred to as his inner Mary. She'd been talking to him a lot of late, and maybe now it was time to actually _listen_ to her.

"Ok. Ok." He ran a trembling, blood streaked hand through his hair, thinking quickly. "Got it!"

Running back down the stairwell and heading out into the scorching sun, John pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and leapt behind the wheel of his truck.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Whatever John has up his sleeve to save his youngest son's life, let's hope it works and that he's quick about it.**_

_**As always, artistic licence (such as it is) has taken priority over medical facts, so no smart arsed comments please.**_

_**(Based on a personal experience with dehydration. **_

_**Finding salt on my arms was a little disconcerting. I was in the middle of the Jersey Itex round-the-island walk when it happened. It's a sponsored event that takes place around midsummer's day each year, starting at around 2am from Elizabeth Harbour, and involves 48.1 miles of sandy beaches and rugged cliff paths. **_

_**Someone once told me that every mile of the cliff paths is like completing two miles on an ordinary flat surface. It certainly felt that way! I was losing more water through sweat than I could physically drink. It was fortunate that I just fell short of the hallucinatory stage... at least, I think I did. Looking back on it now, I'm not altogether certain... LOL!**_

_**It's exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time, very hard on the knees and feet, and I have personally completed it twice. My personal record stands at 14 hours and 55minutes. Someday I hope to complete the walk in less than twelve hours.)**_

_**Cheers for all your wonderful reviews so far.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Heat of the Moment**

**Chapter Three**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Just hold on Sammy," Dean whispered, relieved when the seizure died out, but still worried sick. Sam's chest was heaving, struggling to take in air, mouth gaping wide open. The kid was still unconscious and getting weaker by the minute. "I'm sorry, kiddo, so damn sorry. I shoulda stuck up for you, right from the start."

The loud roar of a powerful engine starting up was followed by a deep rumbling as it drew closer. John's truck appeared a few seconds later.

"Get your brother into the backseat," his father called from the driver's window. "Keep giving him the water if he's awake enough."

Dean nodded sharply and gathered the kid into his arms.

Sam had shot up over the last few months, but still had some growing to do. Given his height, and gangly body, he surely should have weighed a ton, but Dean found, to his surprise and worry, the kid was light as a feather. Sliding an arm under Sam's knees and hoisting him up against Dean's chest, the older brother rose to his feet with little effort, and strode over to the truck. Their father was already out and holding the rear passenger door open.

"Where we taking him, Dad?" Dean asked, as soon as he was settled in the back seat, Sam tucked into his arms.

"The beach."

John got back behind the wheel ignoring his oldest son's bewildered expression.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The journey didn't take long in reality, though Dean could have sworn it took forever. Sam regained consciousness from time to time, but still didn't make much sense.

"..._n-n-notf-freak…noooo_" he insisted, over and over. Dean whispered to him, trying to calm the kid whenever he became distressed, and dabbed a water-soaked bandanna over his face and neck.

"That's right, little brother. You're not a freak, ok? You're my geeky kid brother, but you ain't a freak."

Sam bucked weakly a few times, whimpering breathlessly, but Dean held on tight, refusing to let go.

"Take it easy, Sammy. You're gonna be ok, I promise," then called out to his father. "How much further, Dad?"

"Nearly there."

John didn't stop, just drove straight on to the beach and right up to the waterline.

"Get him in the water," he ordered, grabbing the first aid kit from under the front passenger seat.

Dean didn't waste any more time, and leapt out of the back, wading into the water, uncaring that his clothes were getting soaked. Seaweed pulled at his feet and eventually at his calves and thighs, but he carried on moving until he found a clear patch of water.

By this time he was chest deep, holding Sammy's head above the surface. It was a definite relief from the heat of the sun, wallowing in the cool sea, and already his little brother had quietened down.

John began wading towards them, first aid kit in one hand, and another water bottle in the other. His pockets bulged with what looked like after-sun lotion, and wash cloths.

Sam stirred and moaned, twitching in Dean's grasp.

Twisting the cap off the water bottle, John cupped Sam's neck, raising his head.

"C'mon Sammy, drink some of this for me."

Sam grimaced, eyelids fluttering for a second or two, then gratefully swallowed some water.

"Ok, Dean? Can you take care of the water? I'll get some of this lotion on his face." John pulled out the after-sun and began squeezing a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Smearing it gently on Sam's burned face, rubbing into the red raw skin, John inwardly winced. Poor kid had to be in pain from the sunburn alone.

Long, gangly limbs floated in the water, brushing up against his brother and father. Sam lay completely limp and helpless in Dean's arms, no longer struggling, all the fight gone out of him.

John was fiddling with the first aid kit, looking through it, and muttering under his breath, when his fingers closed on what he was searching for.

"Sammy?" He called softly, and opened the boy's mouth. "Don't bite down now, ok? It's just a thermometer, kiddo. We need to take your temperature…"

A couple of minutes later, Dean waited anxiously for the verdict, eyes widening with fear when his father spoke out loud.

"104.9!"

"God! Dad what the hell are we gonna do?"

"Just give him some more time in the water, Dean," replied John, gentle cupping handfuls of water and pouring it over Sam's hair and forehead. "It'll bring his temperature down if we just give him more time."

Dean nodded, cradling his little brother closer, hoping and praying their Dad was right.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Thirty minutes later, and they were carrying Sam out of the water. His breathing was still a little shaky, but at least he was no longer burning up.

"Let's get him into town," John stated, sliding back behind the wheel. "I'll check us into a motel, call in the doctor. You stay with him, and I'll go get our stuff from the house."

Dean's eyebrows slowly rose.

"Really? We're not going back there?" he asked, hopefully.

John shook his head and started the engine.

"Sam needs a clean room with air conditioning," he glanced at his oldest son in the rear view mirror, stern expression softening a little. "We _all_ do, kid."

Dean just nodded in reply and glanced down at Sam's sunburned face.

_Yeah._

This time the journey wasn't delayed by old guys driving tractors, and John put his foot down. They arrived in town in record time and parked up by the one and only motel.

Fortunately, the town wasn't exactly a tourist attraction and there were plenty of rooms to rent. Each one with a bathtub, and the all important air con. The doctor came immediately, was brisk, professional and diagnosed severe heat exhaustion, which came as no surprise to anyone. Leaving strict instructions to call should Sam suffer another fit, he smiled and headed out.

Backwater town like that, Dean reckoned, people only sought help when their damn limbs were falling off.

It seemed John was going to have to wait a while longer before eating humble pie and apologizing. Sam was in a deep sleep, drugged with pain killers and sedatives just in case, and Dean watched over him whilst their father went back to the beach house.

His phone started vibrating violently across the night stand, and Dean was immediately on the alert when he saw the caller ID.

Someone was calling him from his little brother's phone.

"Who is this? How did you get Sam's phone?" he barked out the second he answered.

"_Are you Sam's brother, Dean?"_

"Who wants to know? Who is this?"

"_I'm Jimmy, Sam's science partner. I was just calling to let him know, I can't get a courier to deliver his phone all the way out there to the house. Any idea when you guys are coming back? Sam didn't want your father to know Mr Breton confiscated his cell phone…"_

And so the whole story came flooding out.

The cop's long presentation, Sam's thwarted attempt to contact his family, why he was so late… _the works._

At the end of it all, Dean hung his head in shame, gave Jimmy the address of the motel, thanked him and ended the call. He studied his sleeping brother's face.

"Aw Sammy," he whispered, sadly. "What the hell have we done to you, kid?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam groaned and flopped over on to his back. He didn't want to open his eyes yet, didn't want to see what was on the other side of his closed lids, but he sure could _feel_.

"Sammy? You awake now, little brother?" Dean's voice came from a distance away, soft and tender.

His head was hurting, throbbing in time to his heart beat. His face felt as though someone had taken a blow torch to it, his mouth and throat had dried up and withered away.

Panting in discomfort, rolling his head from side to side, Sam groaned again a little louder than before and wished he hadn't when the noise bore straight through his skull.

"Sam?" Dean's voice again, closer this time, less soft and more worried.

"S-sick!" Sam suddenly croaked out just as his stomach churned. Shaking hands grabbed him, pulling him upright and tipping him forward. Bile burned its way up and out, leaving Sam spitting saliva and gasping for breath.

"S'ok, Sammy. Just let it out." Gentle fingers carded through Sam's hair, the whispering in his ear relaxing and comforting.

Still spitting and grimacing, eyes still closed, another bout of sickness had Sam bucking and pawing at Dean, silently begging for help.

"I'm here, Sam. Just let it all out, kiddo."

Whimpering softly, Sam listened, drawing strength from his brother's voice.

"I'm so sorry, little bro. So damned sorry..."

Sam didn't have time to ponder that, because he was losing consciousness again and in no mood to fight it.

Dean felt his little brother fall limp in his arms, and sighed deeply. As apologies went, his pretty much sucked. He did take comfort from the fact his father was a leading expert in the field of crap apologies, and it was the one thing Dean refused to excel at, especially when Sam was involved.

_Guess I'll have to wait until Sammy's on the mend._

John was exhausted and stressed out. He'd driven back to the beach house and packed everything up, only to realise he still had to find a way of getting the Impala to town. So he'd driven to the local garage, arranged for the mechanic to drive him back out in the truck, _then_ John drove the Impala _back in_...

He wasn't looking forward to explaining to Dean why he'd been gone for so long. Sounded like one of those damn Zen conundrums, or whatever the hell they were called. John felt exhausted just thinking about it!

All the while, he couldn't stop seeing Sam unconscious in the water, held up by Dean, his body so weak and limp. It scared him beyond words what he'd almost done to his youngest boy.

_God Sammy! I nearly killed you!_

The kid had followed his father's orders to the letter and kept going, never giving up. Sam had been so dehydrated and sunburned John was surprised there was anything left of him.

He stopped halfway to the motel and picked up some glucose drinks and salt as well as a large bag of ice. For once John wouldn't be using the salt to line the doors and windows. Sam needed it to replace all the salt he'd lost, and to help protect against cramps.

When John opened the motel room door, his face fell. Greeted with the sight of Dean holding Sam over the trash can, the younger brother clearly out of it, John immediately grabbed one of the glucose drinks and unscrewed the cap. He poured a small amount of salt into the bottle, resealed the lid and gave it a gentle shake.

"Here," John held out the bottle. "Get him to drink some of this. He needs it."

Blood shot eyes turned his way, and John nearly stumbled back on seeing the sheer misery and despair on Dean's face.

"He passed out 'bout thirty seconds before you arrived," Dean answered, voice a little flat, and sniffed; one hand moved to support the back of Sam's head and stroke the kid's soft curls. The other hand wrapped around Sam's waist and tugged him closer.

"He'll be ok, Dean," John spoke softly.

The misery and despair changed lightning fast to rage.

"No thanks to us!" Dean hissed back, eyes bright with anger. "We should have listened to him, Dad. Did you know Sam had his phone taken away by his teacher? And did you know why?"

John blinked. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Dean nodded furiously, a sarcastic sneer working its way onto his face.

"No. Didn't think so. _And neither did I!_"

He handed over his own cell phone.

"I got a call from one of Sammy's friends..."

John listened with growing guilt and dread as Dean explained. By the time the story was finished, the older guy was holding his head in his hands and groaning softly.

It was far worse than he'd imagine. His conduct had been irresponsible and inexcusable. He hadn't listened to the kid when he tried to explain, virtually called him a _bad_ _son_, punished him for trying to defend himself, and all along the kid tried so hard to understand what he'd done wrong.

_Not a thing, Sammy. You didn't do anything wrong._

To add to his crime, John had also dragged his oldest son down with him. Dean was no doubt feeling more than his fair share of guilt, and that just wasn't right.

_This was down to me and me alone._

How were they supposed to move on from here? Would Sam ever forgive him?

A soft moan from the bed made him look up. Sam's face was pinched, eyebrows drawn into a deep frown, skin flushed alarmingly and his head rolled weakly against his brother's shoulder.

"Sam, calm down," Dean was telling him, brushing damp hair from Sam's eyes, and glanced up at his father. "Dad, I think his temperature's going up again."

John nodded and grabbed the thermometer, wishing not for the first time he had a tympanic device. He hated putting the old fashioned mercury-filled glass in his son's mouth, especially if there was a good chance of another seizure. The local pharmacy consisted of a bar that occasionally sold packets of Tylenol to its hung over patrons, and distributed bandages for the more serious wounds, such as being glassed in a drunken fight.

Tympanic thermometers were for "_city slickers", _and anything considered life threatening meant_ "catching a ride in Charlie Parson's crop sprayer from the cereal farm just across town," _or so the bar maid/pharmacist/general town loud mouth and gossip informed John with a flirtatious wink and yellow-toothed smile…

John shook his head and reflected on just how much he'd fucked up. He'd been meaning to replace the thermometer, but never got around to it. Instead of providing his sons with a safe environment, he'd given them a rat infested hovel with non-existence plumbing, sent his youngest child out into the hot midday son as a punishment for something he hadn't even done, almost killing him in the process, and now there was a very real risk of poisoning the poor kid with mercury.

Though, if that woman from the bar tried to hit on him again, John felt more than happy to crunch on the thermometer with childlike glee.

A few minutes later, John was taking the reading with a worried frown.

"Dad?" Dean watched him warily.

"Hmph. Not as high as it was at the beach, but still," John stopped when glassy blue-green eyes blinked open a fraction and stared at him. "Hey there, Sammy," he whispered, tenderly. "You're still a little too hot, so we're gonna try and cool you down, ok?"

"D'd?" Sam muttered, sounding tired and confused. "Wha... h't..."

His father blinked back tears and smiled down at the kid.

"Yeah, I know. You don't feel too good right now huh, buddy?" John ran his fingers gently through Sam's hair, "We're soon gonna make you feel better, but we need you to drink some of this, ok?" he indicated the glucose drink.

Sam's eyes slid down to the bottle and blinked, then slid back up to Dean, as if silently asking his brother for permission.

Dean smiled. "Go ahead, kiddo. You're gonna need it."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam grimaced at the taste but didn't put up a fight, just sipped away at the bottle like a baby sparrow until it was three quarters empty. Dean's soft encouragement and gentle words helped him get that far, while John was in the bathroom filling the tub with cool water.

"Let's get him ready," John reappeared suddenly by the bed.

Sam didn't struggle, just allowed his family to strip him down and gently manhandle him into the bath tub. Dean placed a hand under the boy's head, keeping him from drowning. Poor kid was too weak to hold himself up, and big brother was only too happy to help. Cupped hands poured water over his face and neck, and his body gradually readjusted to the change in temperature.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**So is Sam finally on the mend?**_

_**And how will his family make it up to him?**_

_**Cheers for the great reviews everyone.**_

_**See usual disclaimer end of chapter 2 re: medical facts.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Heat of the Moment**

**Chapter Four**

_**and Epilogue.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_"Temp's down... plenty of fluids... get him to eat something..."_

_"Sure, Dad..."_

Sam heard the distant muttering, as did his gut because it started growling.

_"I think he's waking up..."_

On opening his eyes, Sam was met with the concerned faces of his brother and father, right up close, and nearly screamed in shock. He twisted and tried scrambling away but Dean caught hold of his flailing arms and pinned him to the bed.

"Sshhh. Just take it easy, Sammy," Dean whispered. "You've been real sick, but you're gonna be ok. You understand me, kiddo?"

Sam switched his gaze from Dean's face to John's, then nodded. "Y-yeah..." and winced when the movement pulled on his tender skin. It was one more career choice he could scratch off his list: French Foreign Legion? Definitely out.

His throat was raw and badly in need of some kind of fluid if Sam stood any chance of appeasing his empty stomach. Fortunately, Dean was on the case and tilting a bottle of water to his little brother's lips.

As soon as the bottle was empty, Sam drifted off into a deep sleep.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The next time Sam came awake the smell of cooked food made his nostrils twitch and his gut gurgled happily with expectation.

John was standing at the motel room dining table unpacking several steaming cartons, and checking each one.

Dean appeared to be sulking and it seemed to Sam as though there had been an argument. He soon found out why.

"Aw, Dad! Couldn't you have gotten me pizza too? Ya know I hate that health food crap."

Sam's ears pricked up at that.

"It'll do you good to eat something other than fast food, Dean," their father retorted, sternly. "You eat way too much junk."

"Oh yeah?" Dean picked up a large pizza box and scowled. "Talk about pot calling kettle!"

John merely grinned at his son's frustration. "What can I say? They ran out of soup and sandwiches at the bar. Pizza was all Meredith had left."

"Meredith?" Dean glared at his father. "Who the hell is Meredith?"

"Bar maid," John didn't look too comfortable. "Asked her to put something healthy together for you boys."

"Uhuh." Dean was cultivating a smug grin. "The bar maid you described, and I quote, as 'unnecessarily ugly with an ass like a two bulldogs fighting in a sack'?"

"Turns out she's not so bad," John grumbled petulantly, "and the woman sure can cook."

Actually, on hearing his youngest son was ill with heat stroke, Meredith had been perfectly kind and sweet, and John regretted his earlier harsh words about the poor woman.

Sam listened to all this with mild amusement, though on the inside he felt nervous as hell. No doubt, once the food was consumed, he'd be on the receiving end of the famous John Winchester rant. Sam wasn't entirely sure how any of this was his fault, but _did_ feel certain his Dad wouldn't let this go without telling Sam what a waste of space he was.

After all, Sam had failed.

Sam had given up during his punishment, and succumbed to the heat.

No father would want a son like Sam Winchester.

He couldn't wait any longer. Desperate to get it over with, Sam pushed back the covers and sat up. Tentatively swinging his legs over the bed, he pressed down with both feet and hands, and stood up, swaying. Shaking with the effort, he took a pace forward.

"Dad?"

John and Dean immediately glanced over, and neither looked too happy to see the youngest Winchester out of bed.

"Sam, get back in bed, now!" John barked out, and regretted it when Sam flinched, hung his head and turned away dejectedly. "Sammy," he called softly. "I'm sorry, kid. Didn't mean to shout."

But what he got for an answer was Sam's slumped shoulders, and the kid shuffled his way awkwardly back to bed. It was a little slow going, having used up most of his energy on getting up in the first place, and his sunburn probably didn't make things any easier.

Dean sighed, moved quickly across the room and gently pushed his little brother back under the covers.

"If you need anything, just say. Ok?" asked Dean, worriedly searching Sam's sad face. "Whatever you need, kiddo, just relax and stay put."

"I just..." Sam sighed, eyes watering a little.

"What, Sam?" Dean asked, gently.

Sam looked up at his father, tears spilling over and stinging his face.

"I wanted to say... I'm sorry, Dad. Sorry for being such a failure," the kid hung his head again, mumbling, "I can't seem to do anything right. Guess you must be pretty disappointed with me."

The silence was worrying, until a warm, gentle hand forced his chin back to face John. His father was smiling sadly, eyes suspiciously bright.

"You're not a failure, Sammy," John rubbed a thumb over Sam's cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear. "You're a pain in my ass, strong willed, hot tempered, stubborn... smart, determined, loyal, but never a failure. And I'm so damn sorry for implying you're a bad son, 'cause you just ain't, kid. I shoulda let you explain."

"But Dad..." Sam began but John shushed him.

"Most of all, I'm sorry for sending you out in that heat, for nearly killing you," said John with a little sniff. "Can't believe how stupid I've been. I didn't even give you an out, just threatened you with more if you stopped. But you kept going... Sammy, I know it's a lot to ask, but d'ya think you might forgive me one day?"

Sam nodded, the movement a little jerky. "I do already," he whispered. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, son. Anything."

"Uh... what do you want me to do next time?" Sam felt nervous asking, afraid his Dad might think him petulant. "I mean, next time a class over runs, do I just get up and walk out?"

John sighed. He really hadn't thought that through properly. There was no way on God's Earth he should have been encouraging his son to disobey a teacher, but that's exactly what he'd done. And wasn't that really the bare origins of this mess?

Sam had made the right decision, and John had punished him for it.

"No," John reached up and gently ruffled Sam's hair. "You played the game according to the rules, but I lost my temper and threw the board in the air. You made the right call, kiddo, especially with the cops present. You had no choice."

Sam's eyes widened. "How did you know about that?"

John glanced at Dean. "Over to you, buddy."

Whilst Dean explained to Sam about Jimmy's phone call, John set about distributing the food. Two large bowls of fresh chicken and vegetable soup, and thick beef salad sandwiches, along with two chocolate milkshakes and some fresh fruit, appeared on the nightstand beside Sam.

John sat back with his own food; a large pepperoni and cheese pizza, which the brothers eyed longingly as each piece was chewed and devoured.

Dean tried his best not to sulk when he tasted the soup and found, to his surprise, that it was excellent. The sandwiches were delicious despite the salad, which Dean began surreptitiously removing and pushing on to Sam's plate when he wasn't looking...

"Dean!"

Dean nearly dropped his sandwich when his father barked at him.

"What?" he replied innocently.

"Eat your salad!"

The kid sighed dramatically. "Just one slice of pizza?"

John shook his head, grinning smugly...

Fact was John had been telling the truth about the food. Meredith had pulled out all the stops, taken food from _her own home_ to prepare this meal for his sons, but there was only enough for two growing boys. And so John, rather reluctantly as it happened, ended up with the pizza.

But he couldn't deny it. It sure tasted great.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John was snoozing on the sofa bed in the corner of the room, an empty pizza box lying on the floor beside him. One last slice of pizza remained, grease congealing in large globules around the pepperoni, the cheese cold and stringy.

A disembodied hand appeared from round the back of the sofa, and if it's possible for body parts to think, then its' thought patterns might have been running along the following lines:

_Hmm. Pizza. One slice left. Owner appears to be asleep._

_Chances of a safe recovery without the owner waking up._

_Around 10%._

_Hmm. Chances of a safe recovery and successfully lying to the owner without getting finger tips chopped off._

_Around 10%._

_Chances of a safe recovery and successfully lying to the owner that a mischievous squirrel had leapt inside the bathroom window and made off with the prize._

_A big fat ZERO._

The hand didn't seem to care all that much after all, however, because in the next instant, the single, solitary slice of pizza was gone.

Dean sat on Sam's bed, both boys munching quietly on what appeared to be half a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza with cold stringy cheese, and watching an old episode of Red Dwarf. Dave Lister, space bum extraordinaire, was busy extolling the virtues of Wilma Flintstone to his shipmate The Cat.

_**Lister:**__ D'ya think Wilma's sexy?  
__**Cat:**__ Wilma Flintstone?  
__**Lister:**__ Maybe we've been alone in deep space too long, but every time I see that body, it drives me crazy. Is it me?  
__**Cat:**__ Well, I think in all probability, Wilma Flintstone is the most desirable woman that ever lived.  
__**Lister:**__ That's good. I thought I was going strange.  
__**Cat:**__ She's incredible!  
__**Lister:**__ What d'ya think of Betty?  
__**Cat:**__ Betty Rubble? Well, I would go with Betty... but I'd be thinking of Wilma.  
__**Lister:**__ This is crazy. Why are we talking about going to bed with Wilma Flintstone?  
__**Cat:**__ You're right. We're nuts. This is an insane conversation._

_(A pause of about a heartbeat and...)_

_**Lister:**__ She'll never leave Fred, and we know it. _

Dean snorted and Sam smiled, carefully. His surnburn was still making him miserable, especially as laughing was out of the question, so smiling was his only option.

Insane conversations?

That sure sounded familiar.

The brothers had taken quite a shine to the British science fiction sitcom a few years back when Dean was sick with flu. Stumbling on the channel by pure chance, Sam and Dean were hooked right from the get go. They found the strange accent of Dave Lister a little hard to understand at first, but soon got the hang of it, and spent the entire weekend watching every single episode.

When Dean had taken to calling his little brother 'Rimmer' or 'Smeghead', a reference to Sam's shared trait of anal retentiveness with the ship's hologram, Arnold Rimmer, an all out prank war began, and ended with Dean tampering with Sam's shampoo. Then Sam was simply 'baldy' for a few months until his hair grew back.

"Hey Sam?" Dean didn't look away from the TV.

"Yeah?" Raising an eyebrow, Sam wondered at the sudden seriousness, and it worried him.

"I've always had thing for Rogue."

Sam blinked in relief, then turned to study his brother, wincing again when the movement stretched his sunburned skin.

"Rogue? As in..." he made a 'roll on' gesture with his hand.

Dean shrugged. "As in Rogue from the X Men."

Gently licking his lips, Sam thought that through and hid a smile. "You do know you wouldn't be able to, uh, _touch_ her or... uh... anything? I mean, you'd never even get as far as first base without being fried like a potato chip."

Dean sighed, a big stupid grin on his face. "Yeah, but _man_, what a way to go."

Sam snorted. "Yeah right. Your downstairs brain'll explode!"

"Dude! Please!" Dean grimaced then indicated his nether regions with a hand wave. "A little sensitivity here, ok? Not-so-little Dean has feelings too ya know..."

"Oh God!" Sam rolled his eyes in despair. "You _named_ your..."A small shake of the head. "You're unbelievable."

"I never fly in the face of public opinion," came Dean's smug reply.

"No, but you'll be flying through that damn wall," John Winchester's gruff voice made the boys glance over to find their father watching them, one eye open and glinting evilly, "if I find out you've been feeding your sick brother pizza!"

Sam smiled again, and snuggled down against his pillows a little more.

"Its fine, Dad. I don't feel sick or anything and I only had a half slice."

John frowned, but winked discreetly at Sam.

"I think it's time Dean went on a diet, anyhow."

"What?!" Dean sat up like an angry merekat. "Oh _hell_ no. Dean Winchester does _not_ do the D word. _Ever!_"

"Yep, 'fraid so," John nodded, sadly. "It's grated carrot and lettuce from now on, Dean. Don't want you getting flabby!"

"_Flabby?!_" Dean shrieked loud enough to earn a thumping through the wall from the neighbours, accompanied by a deep _"Hey! Shut your bitch up! People are trying to sleep!"_

"Oh my God!" Sam couldn't breathe for laughing. Ignoring the pain, he was soon rolling around on the bed, clutching at his sides. "I can't believe that guy just called you a _bitch!_"

Dean glowered at his laughing family, turned up the volume on the TV, crossed his arms and sulked.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam's phone showed up at the motel, courtesy of Jimmy, the Winchester family headed north. Sam was still a little shaky from the heat stroke and needed somewhere safe to recover.

It was during a stop for gas John began really pondering their destination, and then Sam gave him an idea.

Sam shifted in the front passenger seat, the upholstery sticking to his body in spite of the wide open windows. Though the ambient temperature was slowly dropping it was still uncomfortably warm and muggy. But he was kind of relieved that his brother hadn't mentioned the flakes of skin littering the car's interior. His face, arms and neck were finally shedding the damaged tissue, gradually revealing a smooth, fresh complexion.

"Damn, what wouldn't I give for a cool breeze… or _any breeze at all _would be nice… may be some snow," Sam gratefully accepted a fresh ice pack from Dean. "Thanks dude."

"Snow? Forgotten what the stuff looks like." Dean sighed, closing the cooler lid. "We could build snowmen, have a snowball fight, make snow angels, I could shove some snow down your neck for ya... ya know, just to keep you from getting too warm." He was grinning just a little too widely for Sam's liking.

"How 'bout _So_ Little Dean gets some snow-time too, huh?" Sam retorted with a scowl and immediately regretted the pull on his sun kissed face.

"Your hand gets anywhere _near_ GI Winchester, it'll be the last thing you ever do!" Dean replied, eyeing his brother with disgust.

Sam shuddered. "Yeah, 'cause _that's _something I fantasize about," he drawled, sarcastically. "And, dude! Quit naming your body parts; it's freaking me out!"

"That's right," Dean nodded, all big brother smugness on show, "just keep up the attitude and you'll be sleeping outside on a park bench..."

"Boys!" John's stern voice finally caught their attention, though neither of them missed the slight hitch of amusement. "When you two girls have finally quit bitching, you mind telling me what you think of spending some time up at Uncle Bobby's cabin?" He peered in the driver's window at his sons, one eyebrow raised.

Dean turned in his seat to look at his brother. Some kind of silent communication was going on. In the past, John had felt a little envious of the strong bond between his sons, almost like a form of telepathy, but now he was just pleased they were back in sync. For a while there, John had wondered if his recent foolishness might have damaged their connection beyond repair.

"What d'ya say Sammy?" Dean smiled hopefully at his little brother. "There'll be snow up there."

Sam's eyes were shining with the possibilities.

"A chance to get out of the heat?" he grinned back. "I'll take it!"

John, who was still leaning in through Dean's window, pulled out, gently thumped the roof and strode over to his truck.

"Saddle up!" he called out, a big smirk on his face, followed by "_Forward ho!_"

The Winchesters set out on a quest for some _proper_ R&R.

And this time, Sam was included.

_**The End.**_

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_**Author's notes:**_

_**See disclaimer at the end of chapter 2 re: medical facts.**_

_**Cheers for all your wonderful reviews, my darlings.**_

_**Many, many thanks again to Phx and Sendintheclowns for whipping this little fic into shape.**_

_**Any further mistakes are mine.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


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